


The Professional

by kittenofdoomage



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Former Military, PTSD, Smut, Torture, Violence, assassin reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-10-06 03:56:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17338136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittenofdoomage/pseuds/kittenofdoomage
Summary: You’re a trained assassin who pursued hunting after you left the military. On a hunt, you encounter the Winchesters and that’s when things get interesting…





	The Professional

The sun had set three hours ago and the sky was clear, bright with stars. You lounged on the rooftop, chewing the inside of your mouth and wishing you had a piece of gum. Unfortunately, the minty smell would give you away to the particular creature you were hunting.

Vampires had a keen sense of smell.

This pack was relatively small, only five or six, and you’d been watching them since they’d returned last night. The warehouse they were holed up in only had one entrance and you were intending on taking them out one by one with the special bullets in your sniper rifle, propped on the roof edge. Your ammunition was a custom design, specifically for vampires - one shot to the face or head destroyed the brain with the small amount of explosive contained in the bullet.

They had to come out soon.

The rumble of an engine made you sit up with a frown and you crawled to the edge, looking through the scope of the rifle to see what was going on. A shiny black car, a classic Impala by the looks of it, had pulled up to a few meters from the warehouse and you ground your teeth together in annoyance.

Whoever this was had just announced their arrival to the nest.

Two men climbed out of the car, both holding machetes like amateurs and you scowled, checking the entrance to the warehouse. Sure enough, the men had attracted the bloodsuckers out from their nest and you’d missed your mark.

One of the men charged at the vamps, swinging and successfully taking down one of them. You growled in irritation, knowing that the first shot would make them scatter, although there were only four left after the men’s initial attack.

You watched through the scope as the man with the shorter hair out of the two lost his weapon and the vampire got the upper hand, teeth snapping inches from his throat. Taking aim, you cursed your inability to not get involved and shot the vamp right through the ear.

Not a split second later, the creature’s head exploded, covering the man in gore and he held his arms out in disgust. Deciding that you’d had enough, you took out the remaining three vamps, leaving bloody mangled corpses across the ground.

The two men looked up - the one you’d saved pulled a gun from his pants, looking up in your direction. You got to your feet and looked down at them, swinging yourself over the edge and abseiling gracefully down the side of the building on the rope you’d left dangling there.

“What the hell was that?” the short-haired man demanded, advancing on you with a growl. “You could have gotten blood in my mouth!”

“That was me saving your ass,” you retorted, folding your arms over your chest, not intimidated by the gun in his hand that was aimed at you. “Who the fuck runs into a vamp nest with a couple of machetes? And it takes more than a splash to turn someone, special ed.”

The taller of the two men sneered. “We don’t all have access to military grade explosives.”

“Actually,” the shorter man said, earning himself a glare from his companion. “I’m Dean,” he offered instead, putting his gun back in his pants. “You a hunter?”

You weren’t interested in his name, turning on your heel and returning to climb back up, intending on retrieving your gun. “Hey,” the other man called, “look, sorry, we didn’t mean to be -”

“Assholes?” you offered, stopping and leaning against the wall, one hand on your jutted-out hip. “Because I was doing the job until you showed up.”

“Those rounds are pretty cool,” Dean commented, attempting to diffuse the tension. “Plastic explosive?”

You regarded him coolly with your chin raised. “Chemical compound of my own design.” Both men shuffled and you tilted your head a little. “Dean,” you experimented, rolling his name around on your tongue. “Which must make you Sam.” They tensed in alarm. “What, you think people don’t hear about all your wacky antics? For the record, half the shit you do is stupid as hell.”

Dean looked offended and Sam dropped his head, nodding and grimacing in agreement. “Even so, you don’t see us firing bullets at the good guys.”

“It’s a sniper rifle, dumbass,” you spat. “And I don’t miss.” You turned back to the wall, grabbing the rope, sensing Dean behind you. Before he could touch your shoulder, you spun gracefully, lifting your leg to slam your calf against his throat, knocking him to the ground. With one move, your knee pinned his chest and you had a blade at his throat.

Sam lunged on instinct, stopping when you promptly raised Dean’s gun and smiled at him.

“Would you like to rethink that?”

The large man cleared his throat as his brother gasped under your blade. “I was only gonna ask if you wanted to grab a drink. You saved my life, right?” Your grip on the knife relaxed and you let him up, offering him a hand once you’d resheathed your weapon. Dean brushed himself down, grumbling when you offered him his gun back.

“A little jumpy, huh?” Sam joked and you glared at him.

“I don’t drink. But thanks for the offer.”

“You’re just gonna leave?” Dean asked, frowning.

You raised an eyebrow. “Were you expecting a tea party?”

“No,” he defended, tucking his chin into his chest as his brother laughed at your response. “But, y’know -”

Something whizzed through the air, colliding with your shoulder and you went down, crying out in pain as the bullet tore through the non-Kevlar part of your vest. The force of the shot pushed you into the wall, blood splattering against the concrete behind you.

“Get down!” Dean yelled, covering your body with his. Your hand was pressing into the wound on your shoulder, blood trickling between your fingers. Everything started to blur and the smell of sulfur assaulted your senses.

“They want…” you whispered, unable to hold on to consciousness.

Blackness greeted you on the other side.

*****

You were laying on your left side which was not how you usually slept. The sleepy haze that lay over your brain meant you could only hold onto that one fact at that particular moment, so you rolled onto your right.

Pain exploded through your arm and your eyes snapped open as a wail tore through your lips. The room you were in was unfamiliar and you panicked, looking around for a weapon. A figure rushed in through the door and you were on your feet in a second.

“Whoa, whoa,” Dean said, holding his hands up, “it’s me, chill.”

“Where the hell am I?” you demanded, trying to keep upright even though you could feel the warmth of the blood oozing through the dressing on your shoulder.

“Do you remember what happened?” he asked and you scowled, stumbling backward a little. Dean was at your side in an instant, easing you back down onto the bed. “You were shot.”

“I figured,” you snorted back, pushing his hands off. “I’ve had worse.” The look he gave you was entirely “yeah, right” but he didn’t say anything, ignoring your slapping hands to check your wound. “Leave me alone.”

Dean growled in frustration. “You were shot. Badly. Nearly tore through an artery. Lost enough blood that I considered taking you to a goddamn hospital.” Your posture went rigid but you stopped trying to fight him as he pulled the dressing away from the bleeding wound. “We don’t know what they used in that bullet. What exactly were demons doing chasing you?”

You didn’t answer, avoiding his eyes and he snorted in derision.

“Alright, fine, don’t talk. But we can’t help you unless we know -”

“You can’t help me either way,” you snarled, fixing a cold gaze on him. Dean blinked, pausing for a second before he kept on with what he was doing. There was a medkit on the nightstand and he opened it, tossing the bloodied gauze over the oozing wound.

“There was poison in that round. We don’t know what kind,” he sighed, finishing the job and you winced when he pressed a fresh dressing over it. “And we don’t know if it’s fatal.”

“Unlikely,” you muttered, angrily, wincing as you shifted back onto the bed. “They want me alive.”

Dean stared at you for a moment, as if expecting you to tell him something more but you remained quiet. “You’re a stubborn bitch, y’know that?” You leveled him with a hard look and he smirked. “Keep tryin’ to intimidate me, honey. It’s adorable.”

“I could kill you,” you ground out, “so easily.”

“Yeah, you probably could,” he agreed, the infuriating smirk still in place, “but I thought you knew all about Winchesters.” You cocked an eyebrow and Dean chuckled. “You can kill us all you want, Y/N - it doesn’t normally stick.”

“How the hell do you know my name?” you ground out.

He looked so pleased with himself. “We might look like dumb hicks but my brother’s got a brain the size of Mars so we’re good at finding things out.”

Your temper flared and you grabbed the nearest object, which happened to be a pillow, and launched it at him. Predominantly right-handed, the shot was weak and as Dean caught it laughing, you cried out in pain.

“Instant karma,” he pointed out, backing away when you glared at him through watery eyes. “Rest up, sweetheart. I’ll go get you somethin’ to eat.”

*****

As stubborn as you were, you were also hungry and the sandwich Dean brought you was really good. You scarfed it down, not caring that he was still in the room. “How long was I out?” you asked and Dean sighed.

“Maybe seven, eight hours? We hauled ass back here once we’d ganked the demons.” He leaned forward as you licked your fingers clean, swallowing the last mouthful. “Your truck and gear are in the garage.”

“Garage?” You peered at him for a moment before handing over the empty plate. “What is this place?”

“Feelin’ up to a walk?”

Ten minutes later, with your arm in a carefully crafted sling (courtesy of Dean), you were being led through the hallways of the vast building the Winchesters called home. You weren’t sure you’d ever seen anything like it except for in old war films your grandma watched when you were a kid.

“And it was locked up for like, fifty years,” Dean was explaining, “warded against everything until our grandfather time-traveled from the past and we found the key.”

“Wait, your grandfather?” you repeated and Dean nodded. Shaking your head lightly - too much would hurt, as you’d quickly discovered - you blew air out in astonishment. “Man, I heard some crazy shit about you two but I didn’t think you were goddamn Timelords.”

Dean laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corner and you found yourself distracted by how devastatingly handsome the man was. Pity he was a hunter; even more a pity he was a Winchester. You only hunted to quell the bloodlust left over from your glory days. Making friends wasn’t part of the deal.

“Not Timelords,” Dean chuckled, “just magnets for a lot of weird stuff.”

“So I see,” you murmured, following him through into the library. Sam was sat at one of the large tables and your eyes widened at all the books. “Jeez, this is incredible.” Moving away from Dean, you headed for the nearest shelf, marveling at the immaculately organized collection. From fiction to monster lore, there didn’t seem to be a book these guys didn’t have.

“Feel free,” Sam gestured, “might even be a few things you don’t know in there.”

His comment make you turn around and he grinned sheepishly, turning his laptop around. Your mugshot was emblazoned on the front. “You went snooping.”

“It’s a habit,” Sam retorted, “and you’ve got… a lotta history.” He leaned in, narrowing his eyes at the screen. “Says here you were a known associate of “The League Of Assassins”.” You snorted and Dean folded his arms over his chest, leaning against the table.

“So you’re a DC superhero?”

“No,” you spat, irritated by their investigation of your past. “It’s not like the comic books. A lot more blood and death and loneliness.” Both men froze at that last part. “And you’ve put yourselves in danger by sticking your noses in. The demons will find me. They always do.”

“Always?” Sam asked and Dean stood straight, moving closer and dipping his head to catch your eye.

“How long you been running for, Y/N?” The words were quiet, almost only audible to you and you sighed, closing your eyes, trying not to remember the first time the demons had chased you down. You’d tried to make a life for yourself that time but you’d learned quickly not to do it again.

“Too long,” you whispered, wrapping your uninjured arm around yourself, “and it won’t ever stop.”

Sam frowned, sharing a look with his brother. “You’re safe here, Y/N. This is literally the safest place in the world.”

A humorless laugh passed your lips. “You know how many times I’ve thought that?” you asked, not bothering to wait for an answer. “The demons want me because I know shit. I was special ops for six years. I killed people and I did my duty. But when I came back? I needed that rush. Of doing something good. And when I found out monsters were real -”

Dean nodded in understanding. “Yeah, I got ya. Puttin’ all that training to good use.”

Your expression became steel as you recognized the soldier in him. Maybe not the official soldier but you could see the same echo of war in Dean’s eyes that you saw in the mirror. “It helps me sleep at night,” you admitted, “but it comes with the wanted sign above my head. The things I know? Could kill a lot of people.”

Both men watched you for a moment until Sam sat up straight, fixing her with a determined look. “We can help you, Y/N. We’ve had targets on our backs for our entire lives; we know what your going through.” You snorted, not believing that in the slightest but Dean smirked, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Either way, you ain’t goin’ anywhere until that arm is sorted.”

You knew a losing battle when you encountered it and you reluctantly nodded. “Fine. But you better show me where the shower is,” you sighed, rolling your eyes and Dean chuckled.

“Sure thing,” he drawled, holding an arm out to lead the way, “shall we go on with the tour?”

*****

The bunker was more warded than any place you’d ever seen but you weren’t about to let your guard down. It didn’t matter how safe it felt - the demons had always found you, even if it took weeks. The first time they’d come, people had been hurt, and you wanted to avoid involving anyone else.

It was a shame Dean and Sam didn’t share that opinion, believing they were in danger either way. They researched constantly as you tried to heal but after three days, the wound wasn’t closing and you were getting weaker.

“Hey,” Dean murmured, reaching out to touch your leg as you sat slumped at the table, half-asleep, “you should get some rest.”

“I’m fine,” you mumbled back, turning the page of the book Sam had found on ancient poisons. None of the words even registered as you kept trying to read, your eyes closing every few seconds. Eventually, your head slipped from where it was propped on your hand and you face-planted the book.

“Okay, that’s it,” Dean grunted, standing up and scooping you from the chair, mindful of your shoulder.

You were drained to the point that you didn’t even fight, letting Dean carry through to the bedroom that had been designated as yours. He moved slowly, keeping his gait smooth so he didn’t jostle you and you couldn’t help but turn your head into his shoulder, inhaling the fresh scent of laundry detergent on his shirt.

He seemed to favor the flowery scents.

“I’m gonna die, aren’t I?” The resignation in your tone made Dean pause as he laid you on your bed, pushing hair out of your face. Your usual color was missing from your cheeks and your eyes were glassy; he smiled and shook his head.

“We’re good at this, sweetheart,” he whispered, “trust me.”

You nodded, letting your eyes fall shut. Vaguely, you registered Dean’s lips pressing to your forehead and you thought it odd he’d kiss you at all but before you could analyse the occurrence, your mind was drifting into unconsciousness.

Dreams didn’t come quickly. When they did, they were bloody and violent, rehashing interrogations from your time in the Middle-East and gory confrontations with militants from all over the world. One particular memory haunted you; a recon mission gone wrong that had cost the lives of three women and their children.

You’d never put that behind you.

It turned out to be your last mission with special forces.

Screaming woke you and someone was holding you down. After a few seconds, you realized the screaming was you and Dean was trying to stop you from hurting yourself or him. When your mind caught up, your lungs were burning from the high-pitched screech and you collapsed into Dean’s arms, clutching at him tightly.

“It’s okay,” he soothed, wrapping his arms around you, “you’re safe, Y/N.”

Wretched sobs made your body heave against his but he didn’t release you. Dean stroked one hand down your back, trying to soothe you. Your vest clung to your skin, sweat-soaked from the nightmares and the poison in your body.

“I’m here,” Dean murmured, lowering you back to the bed as your sobs wore off and unconsciousness took hold again. He watched you for a moment before glancing toward the door where Sam was stood with his arms folded.

The look on his face made Dean groan.

“Shut up,” he grunted.

“I didn’t say anything,” Sam replied, shrugging.

“I know what you’re thinking.”

Sam scoffed. “Yeah, alright,” he turned away, walking down the corridor to the library as Dean followed, leaving your door open so he could hear if you woke up. “So, get this, the poison in the bullet? Castiel recognized it.”

Dean blinked, frowning. “Cas is here?”

“About thirty minutes now,” Sam said, not looking back, missing Dean’s expression, “and it’s a tracker poison. Really old magic.”

“Great, great,” Dean mumbled, not interested in the history or the awed tone to Sam’s voice, “so how do we fix it?” The two men descended into the war room, where Castiel was stood by the map table, leafing through a book. “You need to get hands on or -”

“The poison is designed to slow a target until they can be caught. Angels used it to track those who had escaped Heaven’s wrath,” Castiel lifted his eyes to meet Dean’s. “Hello, Dean.”

Dean gave him an entirely forced smile that lasted about a second before his expression turned sour. “Don’t need the history,” he snapped, “just need the cure.”

Castiel raised an eyebrow at him, his face stern. “Hellhound blood. Some medicinal herbs.”

“Hellhounds?” Dean’s face paled a little and Sam frowned at him in concern. Even after all these years, Dean hated them most of all. Sam had never forgotten seeing his brother’s bloody, torn-up corpse either, so he understood exactly how Dean felt. “Right,” Dean swallowed, “I’ll get onto Crowley.”

“What about the demons tracking her? They will know where you are,” Castiel warned and Dean shrugged as he turned away.

“They usually know where we are anyway,” he shot back, “so this isn’t much different. Not like they can get in here.” Sam opened his mouth to argue but Dean was already walking off, dialing Crowley’s number to get what they needed.

The angel glanced at Sam. “Dean seems unusually agitated.”

Sam huffed a laugh, meeting the angel’s gaze. “Yeah. He’s been… he’s the one who’s been looking after Y/N. I think he likes her but she’s…” He shrugged, looking back to the doorway. “She’s a mystery.”

“I thought you’d found out who she was?”

“No, we found out what she’d done. We don’t know her. Not really. I guess, we’re just gonna have to see how this plays out.”

“You think she’s dangerous?”

Shaking his head, Sam glanced back at Castiel before starting the arduous task of putting the books away. “Not to us, I don’t think. Not in the way she thinks, anyway. She’s a hunter. From what I can see, she’s done a lot of good in this world.” There was a pause, filled with the sound of books being piled. “I just worry Dean’s… too involved.”

“You think they’ll sleep together,” Cas stated.

“Oh, that’s pretty much guaranteed. Dean likes a woman who can boss him around.” Sam sighed. “But she won’t stay and he won’t do anything about it. And he’ll let another chance walk away because we always do.”

That deafening silence dropped over them - the one that makes you shuffle your feet and find a fleck of dirt on the floor to stare at. The discomfort was broken when Dean walked back into the room, hanging up the call with Crowley.

“Okay, he’s got what we need,” he announced grimly and Sam narrowed his eyes as he looked up.

“What’s the price?” he murmured and Dean sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Dean,” Sam said softly and his brother looked up. “There’s always a price.”

“I know,” Dean acknowledged, his shoulders dropping. “Her memories. He wants her memory wiped.”

*****

There was one mission in Budapest. You remembered it clearly. It was your second mission; the first one where you were personally responsible for someone’s death. One of your greatest fears had come true but it was nothing compared to how you acted afterward.

How you managed to ignore the guilt.

Matthew Mason wasn’t the only death on your hands. Countless others, washing you in blood, screaming at you from beyond the veil because you were responsible.

It didn’t matter to them how many you saved.

It didn’t matter to them that you were just doing your job.

Murderer, they hissed, still loud in your head even when you covered your ears. Their ethereal voices filled your entire being with pain. Liar. Killer.

_Monster._

Someone was calling you now, coaxing you out from the tight ball you’d tucked yourself into. Opening your eyes only meant looking at the faces of your past and you didn’t feel strong enough to do it. After all these years, the guilt had caught up with you.

“Y/N,” the voice called again, separate from the others.

“I’m sorry!” you whimpered, trying to draw yourself in more, as if you could make yourself disappear altogether. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

“…listen…take it all away…” the voice was disjointed and familiar but you couldn’t concentrate through the hideous whispers of the dead.

“Take it away,” you repeated, tears slipping from the corners of your scrunched-tight eyes. “Please…”

“…cost…you won’t remember…Y/N… gotta…”

_Listen_.

“Just let me die,” you whispered. “Please. Just let me die.”

*****

“Pleasure doing business with you boys,” Crowley murmured, handing over the vial of hellhound blood, “mind if I stick around for payment?”

Sam’s jaw clenched and Dean grunted in acknowledgment, snatching the container. Castiel was already preparing the rest of the ingredients and Dean handed over the blood, watching him pour it in. “She didn’t give her consent, Dean,” Sam insisted, turning his back on the demon king. “She’s not lucid.”

“And she’s not gonna be if we don’t do anything,” Dean snapped. “She’s suffering Sam and if the cost is a few bad memories -”

“Memories are what make you, Dean. You know that. Remember when you started losing yours?”

Dean’s back tensed and Sam sighed, shaking his head. “Sam,” Dean said, his voice low and dangerous, “she’s gonna die if we don’t do something. Her mind is torturing her because of this poison.” Castiel poured the blood into the bowl and it sizzled, the mixture bubbling and congealing into a paste.

“It’s a relatively simple antidote,” the angel murmured, lifting the bowl and handing it to Dean. “Apply it to the wound, making sure it’s covered in a thick coat. A few hours, and she should begin to recover.”

“Dean -” Sam started again, only to be met with a hard glare from his brother.

Dean left the room with stiff shoulders and Sam watched him go, grinding his teeth together. “You know, Moose, it really is a small price to pay,” Crowley drawled, “and Y/N… she’s seen some things she probably wouldn’t mind forgetting.”

“Are you going to destroy the memories?” Sam countered, turning his gaze on the smaller man. “Or keep them for you own uses? What happens to her when you take them?”

Crowley grinned. “A deal is a deal, Sam. Dean traded me her memories for the blood.” His eyebrow jerked up as his smirk widened and Sam growled under his breath, infuriated with the tricky demon. “It’s none of your concern what I do with them.” He inhaled sharply, moving over to take a seat in one of the upholstered library chairs, crossing his legs and folding his hands together. “And as for Y/N?” Crowley’s smile returned. “I’m not taking the important things. She’ll still be her just… minus a few traumatic secrets.”

Sam watched him for a moment, glancing at Castiel before following Dean down the corridor.

*****

Sticky. Everything was sticky.

You opened your eyes, waiting for your vision to adjust to the dimly lit room. Dean was sat at the end of the bed, playing on his phone. The second you moved your fingers, he was upright, discarding the game to look at you.

“Hey, there,” he smiled, turning his body to face you, “how’re you feelin’?”

Wincing, you pushed yourself up, glancing at your bare right shoulder. Something ominously brown was stuck to your skin, cracked and dried over the gunshot wound. “Like roasted crap,” you grunted, gingerly reaching up to touch the concoction on your skin. “What is this?”

“You don’t wanna know. But it worked, so that’s good.”

You sniffed, rolling your neck. The injury didn’t hurt as much as it had before and the last few whispers of your nightmares were fading away. “The demons?”

Dean sighed, “we haven’t seen anything. We found the antidote and got the ingredients -”

“What was in it?” you asked, frowning. “Nothing too creepy. Like baby eyeballs or something.” His face screwed up in disgust and you smiled. “Sorry. Little graphic.”

“Hellhound blood,” he said, slowly, “that was the worst of it.”

Narrowing your eyes, you tilted your head. “Where did you get hellhound blood?” The shrug of his shoulders furthered your concern. “Dean…”

He cleared his throat before meeting your gaze. “Crowley.”

“What?” Dean didn’t repeat himself and you shook your head in disbelief. “No, Dean -” Horror filled your expression. “What did he want?”

“Ah,” the man in question cooed from the doorway, smiling in your direction, “our Sleeping Beauty is awake.”

“Dean,” you ground your teeth together, “What. Did. He. Want.”

The hunter looked at you, his eyes imploring. “Your memories,” he murmured, “the information the demons want.”

You lifted your gaze to meet Crowley’s, his dark eyes glittering in the dim light. “What are you going to do with them?”

“Nothing,” he said, rocking on his heels. “Assassins like you are a dime a dozen, my dear. Those secrets you know? I already have. Which is precisely why you can’t keep them.” You looked at Dean, who avoided your attention, looking at the floor. Crowley moved closer, stopping at the end of the bed. “I won’t take anything that makes you, you. But I could do with one less advantage to those who would see me disposed.”

“Better the devil you know,” you whispered, reaching out to touch Dean’s hand. “Take them.” Green eyes snapped up to yours. “I don’t… I don’t want them. I never did.”

“To be clear,” Crowley murmured, walking around the bed to the opposite side to Dean, “I’m not removing everything. It’s not a cure-all.”

“I know,” you replied, not breaking eye-contact with Dean, “but I’m tired of running.”

Dean’s lips twitched. “I thought you were gonna hate me,” he admitted and you smiled. “Sam thought I was wrong.”

“You probably were. I don’t trust Crowley as far as I can throw him,” the demon in question cleared his throat, “but the information would be far more dangerous in someone else’s hands.” You glanced over at Crowley. “I assume you wanna get it done.”

“If you would be so kind.”

Dean didn’t move. “I’m staying,” he insisted, holding your hand tightly and you looked down at your entwined fingers, “right here.” Your stomach flip flopped nervously as you lifted your gaze to his face again, nodding slowly.

“Okay.”

*****

At night, the bunker was eerie. The lights usually timed off if there was no movement for a while - at some point Dean had told you that even though they’d lived there for nearly five years, they still hadn’t figured out how the electrics worked and at this point were just hoping the water continued to work every day.

You didn’t know how they lived with such uncertainty until you realized this was the most stability either of them had ever had.

When it was dark, the machines that powered the whole place were more noticeable, a gentle whirr that seemed to vibrate through the walls. Even after being in the bunker for a few days, you still hadn’t adjusted.

It was safe to leave now. To continue with your life as you had been but without fear of being chased by demons constantly. Crowley was making sure it was widely known that he’d taken away everything of value in your head. The sensation had been odd, bordering on painful, and it was strange when you thought back and had blank spaces. Some things didn’t make sense now, lacking in context but you’d been trying not to think about it too much in case you went insane.

There was nothing to keep you in Kansas.

Nothing except for the way Dean looked at you. The way he’d looked after you at your weakest. You’d never been that vulnerable in your life and he’d protected you, at the risk of his own.

“Y/N?”

The sound of his voice made you turn. He was stood barefoot in the corridor, wearing pajama pants and a very thin t-shirt - the bunker was cold enough to make his nipples stiff under the fabric. As he shuffled toward you, he yawned and stretched his arms out. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, shifting on the spot, “I was just… walking. I couldn’t sleep.”

Dean nodded, moving past you and into the kitchen, not looking back when you followed. “Well, I’m up. You want a coffee?”

You shook your head, slipping into one of the spots at the kitchen table. He shrugged and set about making his own drink, not saying anything as he worked. Dancing your thumbs around each other, you sighed heavily and Dean looked up from stirring his drink.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asked, moving to sit opposite her. “Is it your shoulder?”

“No,” you shook your head, “that’s healing fine. Cas did a bang up job after I got the grossness off.” Dean smirked at that, sipping his coffee and wincing when it burned his lips. “I was thinking about leaving.”

He spluttered, panic on his face. “Leaving?”

You nodded, looking down at your hands so you didn’t have to meet his gaze. “I had a job before this. I’ve still got a job now. Crowley didn’t take that away.”

Dean was quiet for a moment, peering into his coffee. “The job doesn’t mean you have to leave,” he offered, looking up at you through his lashes, “you can work with us.” The way he said it was almost like he was shy and when you fixed your gaze on his face, you were shocked to see his cheeks darkening, making his freckles stand out. “Kinda like having you around.”

“Dean…”

“No, I know,” he dismissed, forcing a smile onto his face, “you work alone, you’re a danger magnet, we’re danger magnets,” he sighed, “death, destruction and -” Lapsing into silence, his shoulders hunched in as his posture sank. “Life of a hunter. It always ends bloody.”

“At least it ends,” you sighed, getting to your feet, missing the frown on Dean’s face as you turned your back and left him in the kitchen. Before you’d made it to your room, he’d caught up, one large hand encircling your bicep. Instinct made you turn and aim a punch; Dean was just quick enough to catch it.

“You lookin’ to end it?” he asked and your mouth opened, argument ready but failing before you’d gotten to the first syllable.

“I’m not suicidal,” you replied, your attention drawn to where he held your fist in his significantly bigger palm, “but I’m a realist.”

Dean huffed a laugh and smirked. “You think,” he murmured, releasing your hand but drawing close enough that you could smell the coffee on his breath, “that maybe this life is a little better when you’ve got someone to share it with?”

Shrugging, you smiled, not moving away from him. His face was centimeters from yours, noses almost touching. “I can’t say I’ve ever thought about it.”

“I have,” he whispered, closing the space between you even more, “I’ve been thinking about it every day since you got here.” Lifting a hand, Dean cupped your cheek, tilting your head up so he could press a chaste kiss to your lips. “Been thinking about waking up every morning with you next to me.”

“That’s a fairy-tale,” you mumbled back.

“Yeah,” he agreed, pressing against you again. This time, you responded, deepening the kiss as Dean pushed you back against the wall, his hands coasting down the sides of your body. “No harm in trying though,” he muttered, his hands on your waist, tugging you toward his room.

His shirt was off before he’d even kicked the door shut. You ran your hands down his chest, humming in approval when Dean dragged your top over your head, tossing it to the floor. “Take off your pants,” you ordered, pushing back to watch.

“Only if you take off yours,” he retorted, his thumbs already in the waistband of his pajama pants.

Grinning, you pushed your sweats down, stepping out of them and when you stood straight, Dean was fully naked, opposed to your cotton panties and bra. “No underwear?” you asked, raising an eyebrow at the sight of his thickening cock, jutting proudly from a thatch of dark hair at his groin.

He shrugged with a lewd smirk on his lips. “I prefer to sleep naked.”

“Hmm, me too,” you giggled, seconds before Dean was on you again, reaching around to unhook your bra. When he was done, he dragged the straps down your arms, crouching so he could press his face between your breasts. His huge hand cupped and kneaded them as his tongue teased your nipples, coaxing them to hardness.

Your lips dropped his name in a gasp when he dropped to his knees, looking up at you with eyes so dark they were almost black. Dean hooked two fingers in each side of your panties, slowly pulling them down your thighs until you could step out of them. When you were nude, he stayed on his knees, cupping your ass with his huge hands before burying his face in your pussy.

The sudden touch of his tongue and lips on your sex made you sharply inhale and you obeyed when Dean’s fingers pulled your thighs apart. You dragged your fingers through his short hair as his tongue started to tease at your clit.

“Fuck, Dean,” you whispered, head tossed back and chest heaving as Dean licked you out on his knees, his tongue ridiculously long, probing your intimate space until you were whimpering his name like a broken record.

Your legs were shaking now, knees weakening with the force of your climax and as you started to jerk in his hold, Dean ceased his assault, picking you up and carrying you to the bed. He covered your body with his, kissing his way from your belly button to your mouth. “Stay,” he whispered.

“Convince me,” you purred back, stroking his face with one hand. Your thumb caught his bottom lip, dragging it down with a slight popping noise as Dean took another kiss, thrusting his tongue into your mouth as he pressed your thighs apart with his knees. His hips rocked against you, his cock brushing against your twitching cunt and you groaned, slipping a hand between your bodies.

The second your fingers encased his cock, Dean groaned against your mouth, breaking the kiss to look down at you. You smiled as you guided him into your body, using your other hand to grip the back of his head and drag him down to connect your lips again.

With one stroke, he was inside you, stretching you to what felt like the limit. Sustaining the kiss became impossible as you struggled to breathe, too blinded by pleasure. Dean buried his mouth against your throat, licking and sucking marks into your skin.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, digging your ankles into his ass. He took the movement as encouragement, pulling back before thrusting back in with enough force to make you gasp. His cock slammed into your cervix, sending a shudder through your bones. Your entire body relaxed with pleasure, thighs opening a little more, allowing Dean to deepen his thrusts.

“I’m gonna cum,” you whimpered and Dean growled against your skin.

“Lemme cum inside you,” he begged, mouth so close to your ear that his desperate tone made you shiver. “Lemme fill you up, baby.”

The word “ _fuck_ ” left your lips in a drawn out cry and you lost yourself as Dean buried his shaft as deep as he could, holding his hips flush to yours. His climax was thick and warm, accompanied by his low groan as he pressed his forehead against your chest.

You giggled as you recovered, running your fingers through his hair again, encouraging him to lift his head. A lazy grin stretched his lips and you arched up to kiss him again, entangling your tongue with his.

“Stay,” Dean asked again, “stay here and hunt with me,” he kissed along your jaw, “stay here and wake up with me.” With one last kiss to the corner of your mouth, Dean lifted up to look down at you and you smiled, half-asleep from bliss.

In the afterglow, it was easy to give in. The “ _yes_ ” fell from your lips and Dean kissed you again, rolling the both of you so you were on your sides, sharing lazy kisses. You didn’t know what the morning would bring. Every day was a challenge, a what-if when you were a hunter.

But Dean wasn’t wrong.

There was no harm in trying for the fairy-tale while you had the chance.

“Yes,” you whispered, closing your eyes and nuzzling into his chest. “I’ll stay.”


End file.
